


Meeting the Parents

by BelaCinderella



Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelaCinderella/pseuds/BelaCinderella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish Watson-Holmes is bringing his new super-spy boyfriend over to meet the parents at their annual Christmas get-together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting the Parents

**Author's Note:**

> This was my gift for [FrozenFoxFire](www.frozenfoxfire.tumblr.com) in the Sherlock Secret Santa gift exchange on Tumblr.

“Have you told your fathers I’m coming over?”  


“Yes, James, I did. Last week. Over tea.”  


“Too many details, Hamish. And you’re turned away so I can’t see your tell. You haven’t told them anything.”  


Hamish sighed and turned around, “you’re right, James, I haven’t. I don’t know how to tell them I’m absolutely serious about this relationship. They were worried about me in uni. Having too many boyfriends, not having any boyfriends, not finding the right person, letting a good boy go. And that was just until my third year. So I left them out of my life, telling them I was focusing on work. And I was… until I met you. And how do you tell your parents you’re ass over tea kettle in love with the nation’s top spy after he insulted you and your pyjamas?”  


James stood and walked around the kitchen island and put his arms around Hamish.  


“You’re tense,” said James and Hamish sighed. He put his head in the crook of James’ neck and they stood that way until the kettle sang.  


“Go put a shirt on,” Hamish said, as he pushed away from James, “we need to go shopping for presents and I loathe doing it alone.”  


XXX  


“We should get your dad another God awful jumper,” grinned James, holding up a blue wool monstrosity with small white animals and black geometric patterns.  


“James, that’s an absolute travesty,” frowned Hamish, “and he doesn’t need any more jumpers. I’m buying him a book of photography of major cities and a new watch.”  


“Well I’ll buy your dad this sweater. He’ll use it more than that watch.”  


Hamish sniffed and adjusted his glasses, “then what are you going to buy Father?”  


“What are you going to buy your father? I’d hate to step on your toes.”  


Hamish sighed, “I’m not sure yet. Cufflinks are silly and he never wears ties. Besides, he ‘deduces’ whatever the present is before even opening it.”  


“That sounds like no fun. What if I buy him another Frisbee hat?”  


“James, aren’t you even going to try and make a good impression?”  


James sighed and led Hamish to one of the overstuffed couches that littered the department store.  


“Hamish, I am trying to make a good impression. I do want your fathers to like me. However, I don’t think that being formal with them is going to win them over. From what you tell me about them, your dad doesn’t like that and your father will see straight through it anyway. Let me buy my presents and you buy yours and this weekend will be fine,” he put his arm around Hamish, who laid his head on his shoulder.  


“You’re right. I’m just so stressed. I want this to go over without a hitch. I want them to like you.”  


“You forget whose career is built on being clever and charming,” murmured James, kissing the top of Hamish’s head.  


“And being humble,” smiled Hamish.  


“Come on. Let’s go get an espresso and keep shopping,” James pulled Hamish to his feet and picked up the bags.  


“Christmas gifts,” groused Hamish, “meretricious.”  


XXX  


“James! It’s 4 o’clock! We’re going to be late!” Hamish yelled across the flat as he hurried back into the kitchen to make sure all the food was in the cooler. Again.  


“Hamish,” James said in a soothing voice, walking into the living room, “Hamish, you need to-”  


“James, please check the presents.”  


“Haven’t you done that three times?”  


“James, the presents?”  


“Yes, love. They’re all here.”  


“With the cards? They look good?”  


“Hamish, they look lovely, you did amazing. Santa himself would be put to shame by your gift-wrapping skills.”  


“Oh don’t tease, James,” said Hamish, appearing behind him, “you’re sure they look alright?” He peered into the large bag holding wrapped presents and smaller bags with bright tissue paper.  


“Do you think we should pack up some of the rum balls, James? I don’t think we’re bringing enough food,”  


“Are you serious?”  


Hamish knitted his brow.  


“If it will make you happy, Hamish, then pack some. You know I love them, but I shouldn’t eat so many. Bring some; your dad will enjoy them.”  


Hamish sighed, “okay. Then we really need to go.”  


He moved back into the kitchen, pulling down a Tupperware. James picked up the bag of presents and the cooler and carried them down to the car. He came back to find Hamish standing in the foyer, holding his container of rum balls, looking at the flat blankly.  


James put his arm around Hamish’s waist and felt him start a little, “come on, love. We’re going to be late.”  


“Yeah,” breathed Hamish, “I guess we better go.”  


In the car Hamish stared out the window, fidgeting with the cuff of his jumper.  


“Babe,” said James, taking Hamish’s right hand, “you’ll ruin your sleeve.”  


Hamish’s hand tightened in James’s as he started to tap on the door. James just shook his head; there wasn’t much he could do.  


James heard Hamish’s breathing hitch as he turned onto Baker Street. After James parked the car, he climbed out and pulled the bag of presents and the cooler from the back, then waited by Hamish’s door. Hamish looked at him through the car window, big blue eyes glistening behind his glasses. James frowned and opened the door.  


“Hamish, it’ll be more awkward if we sit in the car all night. Besides, I’m starving.”  


“Yes, I know,” Hamish nodded.  


James waited for a beat, “well, my love, then you’ll need to get out of the car.”  


Hamish laughed quietly, and then slowly climbed out.  


“I grabbed the cooler and present bag, so all you’ll need to burden yourself with is that container of rum balls. That’s a rather harsh side-eye you’re giving me.”  


Hamish wrinkled his nose at James as he looked across the street.  


“Dad put up the Christmas lights around the window to frame Father when he plays the violin. He thinks he’s subtle, but he’s no more secretive than Father, who likes to play the violin in front of the window because it makes him look deep.” They reached the door, “Dad put up a wreath. I wonder if he knows holly means domestic bliss.”  


A note on the door read:  


> Christmas party guests or clients please show yourselves upstairs.  
>  -JW & SH  
> 

“Clients? At Christmas?” said James incredulously.  


“You’d be surprised,” Hamish shrugged, “Holiday season is when they get the most cases. Something about dreary weather and forced good cheer does something to psychopaths.”  


James nodded as Hamish opened the door, “I don’t know too many psychos, sorry. No frame of reference.”  


The hallway smelled of cinnamon and cloves and the sound of a violin playing "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" floated down from upstairs.  


“Father always plays Christmas music even though he swears he doesn’t enjoy the holidays. 'Silent Night' is his favorite.”  


They climbed the stairs, and the door to the flat opened. John Watson stood in the doorway, wearing a green and red sweater, beaming.  


“Hello, Hamish, love,” John said, pulling Hamish into a hug. Hamish was taller than John, but had the same nose and taste in sweaters. James had dressed tastefully, simple black cashmere sweater pulled over a light lilac button down, but Hamish had pulled out one of his old blue and white jumpers with reindeer on it, and now James could see that the trend ran in the family.  


The music stopped and Sherlock Holmes himself came into view behind John and Hamish, holding his gorgeous Stradivarius in one hand, and a mug of tea in the other. Impeccably dressed even for a simple get-together, he sported a tailored Ermenegildo Zegna suit, with his red silk dress shirt the only sign of festivities. He smiled at the two embracing, then looked back at James.  


“John, you seem to be forgetting a very important guest,” he said quietly.  


“What? Who could be more important than our- oh,” John trailed off as he caught sight of James, who had hung back a little to allow Hamish a moment.  


“Dad, Father, I’d like to introduce my boyfriend, James Bond,” Hamish said, stepping aside.  


“I’d shake your hand, but,” James raised his hands, holding the cooler and bag of presents.  


“Come in, come in! Hamish didn’t tell us you were coming,” John said, waving James and Hamish in.  


“Yes, I know,” James affirmed as Sherlock said, “yes, he did.”  


“You knew?” Hamish asked, “I should have known I couldn’t hide it from you.”  


“Well, you were being cagey when you came over for tea last week, and fidgeted more than usual when John asked if you were coming for Christmas. Clearly you were hiding something from us or, more likely, you were going to surprise us with something, since you were still coming for Christmas. You only surprise us with really important news, so unless it was another job promotion, which, really, how much higher can you go than Quartermaster? it was going to be something else exceptional, and so probably a relationship. Ergo, a new boyfriend, and if you’re bringing him round for Christmas, you two must be quite serious,” Sherlock smiled at Hamish, “besides, who’s known you best for over 20 years?”  


Sherlock put his violin away and came over to embrace Hamish as well.  


“Um,” said James, turning to John, “where should I put-”  


John took the bag of presents, “the cooler can go in the kitchen, I’ll be in there in a moment.”  


James went into the kitchen, and stopped short at the sight of the microscope and petri dishes lining the table and counters. Hamish’s stories were apparently true. Not that he was inclined to disbelieve Hamish, but a science laboratory in a kitchen seems a little excessive. He was worried what he might find in the fridge.  


John came in and tutted a little, “I swear, I organized a little this morning, what could he have possibly done while I was gone?” he said, mostly to himself. He turned to James, “I can only assume Hamish has told you stories?”  


“Yes, well, I didn’t really believe them, but… I suppose it makes sense. Should I be worried about the refrigerator?”  


“Perhaps. I know he got a call from Molly yesterday, so who knows what might be in there,” John took the things out of the cooler and started putting them in the fridge, “it seems like just some small extremities. Can I get you anything? Tea, wine? Hamish tells me you like Scotch, so maybe we can finally open that Glenfarclas 1955 that Mycroft sent us after finishing… well never mind.”  


“Did you say, Gle-Glenfarclas 1955?” James stuttered, “God, no, I couldn’t. I mean, no, thanks, tea’s fine.”  


“It’s not like we’ll ever drink it,” came the low voice from behind him, “Mycroft forgets that neither of us drink. It’s a good thing Hamish found someone who does.” Sherlock was standing in the doorway .  


“Well, if you’re sure,” hesitated James.  


“Dad! I brought you some rum balls. I know how much you enjoy them,” Hamish appeared around the corner, “oh Dad, you’re not letting him drink already? It’s only 5 in the evening, and he becomes almost intolerably charming and witty when he drinks.”  


They heard the door open, and Molly Hooper stepped in, holding her own bag of presents, “hello? I hope I’m not too early. The invitation said 5 o’clock.” John went out and greeted her warmly, then introduced her to James.  


“Hamish, oh, I remember when you first visited the morgue and now you’re all grown up and bringing home cute boyfriends,” she said to Hamish over James’s shoulder as she hugged him.  


“Yeah, thanks Molly,” Hamish said.  


“I brought mistletoe, since that’s always a fun thing to have at Sherlock’s parties, so you two will have to use it at some point,” she said, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.  


Sherlock rolled his eyes as John made him hang it up over the doorway between the hall and the living room, but as soon as it was up he pulled John in for a kiss. John came away blushing and Sherlock picked up his violin.  


“As John makes me ask every year, does anyone have any requests while we wait for the rest of the guests?” he asked.  


“'Hark! The Herald Angel Sing',” said John.  


Over the next hour their guests slowly trickled in, with the usuals bringing gifts and food. Lestrade insisted upon bringing the wine, since he had such a large collection, and Sally and Anderson brought side dishes (Sherlock had not been happy about inviting them, but John had made a fuss). John put on background music and arranged all the gifts under the tree as they trickled in.  


It was 6 PM when John pulled the turkey from the oven and Lestrade opened his red wine. Mycroft dropped by to meet James, even though he had technically already met him, being the government (a very good word from Mycroft had secured Hamish’s position), and to distribute his gifts. John had a small parcel ready for him, and Sherlock and Mycroft wished each other a merry Christmas before Mycroft had to leave. James told him his taste in Scotch was unparalleled, and Mycroft told James he didn’t need to kiss his arse, but thank you.  


It was 8 PM when Anderson and Sally left, after opening their presents, claiming they had an early start at work tomorrow, even though it was Christmas Day. Lestrade stayed another half an hour, alternately thanking John and Sherlock for his new Belstaff leather jacket and moaning about being alone for another Christmas Day. Sherlock finally mentioned, none too quietly, that Molly Hooper was also unattached on her Christmas Day, no one asked how he knew, and Lestrade then tripped over his own words until he finally asked a blushing Miss Hooper over for Christmas day festivities. They left separately at 9 PM.  


It was then just Sherlock, John, James, and Hamish in the flat on Christmas Eve. The fire was dying down, and the music was quiet, and the two couples sat together on the couches, sipping their drinks.  


“Dad, do you remember that one Christmas, wasn’t I about seven, when Father's violin string broke in the middle of 'Joy to the World?'”  


Sherlock frowned as they discussed the details of this story, then mentioned John’s string of jumper purchases for Hamish, to which John looked chastised.  


“Yes, but Father, you forget that those are in fashion now. Dad prepared me for a life in vogue,” said Hamish, to which John nodded proudly.  


James hadn’t been surrounded by this kind of Christmas spirit since his Aunt Charmian passed away. Her house at Christmas seemed to be straight out of a magazine. It smelled like gingerbread, and had garland everywhere, with a large tree in the front window. James felt a pang of nostalgia as he looked at Hamish laughing with John while Sherlock rolled his eyes at another story that made him look ridiculous. James hoped very much he’d be able to be a part of this for many more years.  


The clock struck midnight, taking them by surprise, and as it began to chime, they all looked at each other.  


“Merry Christmas, boys,” said John, and Sherlock raised his mug to them.  


“Merry Christmas,” replied James and Hamish.  


“I think we should use that mistletoe Molly brought,” whispered James, then pulled Hamish to his feet and under the small branch on the doorjamb. On the twelfth toll, James cupped Hamish’s jaw and pulled him into a kiss.  


“Merry Christmas, Hamish,” James whispered against his lips.  


“Merry Christmas, James,” Hamish murmured in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so there were a few things I wanted to point out  
> A) Hamish always calls John "Dad" and Sherlock "Father" because John is a little more relaxed and Sherlock is more formal, and I think Hamish would grow up calling Sherlock "father" because of that, not that Sherlock actually made him use that term only. Also, it allows for differentiating.
> 
> B) I'm going with the headcanon that Hamish is Asa Butterfield when he's little (good reference [here](http://www.enderwiggin.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Asa-Butterfield2.jpg)) and grows up to be Q (don't believe me? Look at [this](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m83n7iaMrk1rusmn1o1_1280.png) and you tell me)
> 
>  C) Ermenegildo Zegna is an incredibly expensive Italian designer and Glenfarclas 1955 was bottled exactly 50 years after it was distilled and all 110 bottles were sold out before it was even released; at £5,500.00 per bottle, it felt like something Mycroft would buy for the boys after they complete a case that saved the government.


End file.
